


Saltwater Heart

by Trifoliate_undergrowth



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Autistic Hermann, Autistic Newt, M/M, Selkie Hermann, adrenaline junkie newt, are any of these characters neurotypical idk, budget secondhand shape of water plot, cold water swimming, idk I'll add tags as I go?, trapped in a lab plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoliate_undergrowth/pseuds/Trifoliate_undergrowth
Summary: Marine cryptobiologist Newton Gieszler is called in to look at a new specimen acquired by the Pan-Pacific Research Center. They claim it's a selkie. What Newton finds is a man who wants to go home.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

The harbor seal slipped into the waves and vanished without a backwards glance.

“Not much gratitude, eh?” commented Dr. Chuck Hansen, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his windbreaker. His father, Hercules Hansen—Herc to his friends, which he considered anyone he met—simply watched the disappearing creature with satisfaction. It had been tangled in nets and suffering from a bad infection when they’d picked it up a few days before, and now it was recovered and free to return to its life in the waves.

“Hey, orca!” said Chuck, scrambling up the ridge for a better look at something further out in the water.

Herc sighed. It was simply the cycle of life, but he hated to know they’d released the seal they’d so recently saved this close to danger. But as he trudged after his son he saw that the orcas were heading in another direction than the one the seal had taken.

“There’s another seal out there,” said Chuck, eyes fixed on the waves. “I just saw it for a moment. That looks like a pod of transients hunting it. Maybe two or three? Look!”

A slick wet head broke out of the waves for a moment, and they could see the seal’s body thrashing beneath the waves, propelling it towards shore. Then the dark shape of a killer whale rose up from below it. It darted to the side, trying to avoid the strike, but was still knocked onto its back and partly stunned, slowing in its rush to the shore. A second killer whale rose up, circling lazily between the seal and the shore, forcing it to double back.

“Guess they’re eating well tonight,” said Chuck.

“I don’t know, the seal seems to be doing alright. Maybe he’ll make it,” said Herc.

Chuck shook his head. “Whales.”

“Seal.”

“Whales. I’ll bet you, uh—I’ll buy you new boots if the seal gets away. Which it won’t.”

“Huh. What do you want if the whales get it?”

“Buy me another rifle.”

“Nah, boy, you don’t need more of those.”

“Fine. Loser buys new boots for the winner and takes the leaky ones.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game there.”

“Scared?”

“Nahhh.”

They stood in silence for a while, craning to see what they could of the drama unfolding mostly out of sight beneath the waves. The seal, exhausted and frantic, was nevertheless working its way closer to shore. Finally, in a movement so quick they nearly missed it, it burst out of the breaking waves and lurched forward up the rocks. Herc made a pleased sound.

“It’s not over yet,” said Chuck, though he didn’t look quite as convinced.

Harbor seals cannot walk on their flippers like sea lions, they fling themselves forwards by undulating their bodies in a sort of caterpillar crawl. They can move surprisingly fast like this, once they get off to a good start—which this seal, struggling up the loose rocks of the shore, did not have. As for killer whales, they have been known to ride the waves onto shore and temporarily beach themselves in order to snatch up seals on the beach, and they were still close behind. The seal, tossing its head back to see the dark fins riding up the waves, evidently knew this, because it flung itself forwards with renewed speed, and then it did something it should not have been able to do. It stood up and ran.

For the few short moments the figure was in view—apparently human, running upright, with a heavy wet cloak flung over their shoulders—there was complete silence, Herc and Chuck both watching in shock. Then the figure disappeared behind some boulders and Chuck leapt forwards with an indistinct scream. He said something about “Selkie” and “documentation” and “proof” but he was making too much noise with the miniature rockslide he was causing in his enthusiasm for it to be coherent. Herc raced after him, arriving a few moments later. He saw a human man lying unconscious under the boulders, still clutching a sealskin over his shoulders. Chuck was hovering over him with a frenzied expression.

“Dad, you got the camera?” he yelled.

“What—I can’t just—take pictures of some _man_ —is he injured?”

“I don’t know! Get the camera!”

“Hold on, is this the seal? Maybe the whales grabbed it and this is just a swimmer we didn’t notice, you can’t just assume—”

“Oh fuck off do you really believe that?!”

“It’s possible, I couldn’t see what happened—”

“Fine! Fine! Just help me move him to the car!”

“No way!”

“Shut up! It’s an injured seal right? We’re doing a rescue!”

“That’s a human person!!”

“No it’s not!” yelled Chuck, lifting the sealskin to demonstrate. This woke the man, who clutched reflexively at it. Even before lifting his face from the ground, where rocks dug into his skin, he struggled to drag it closer to his body.

Herc walked closer and crouched down near his head. “Hey, are you alright?”

Dark eyes met his. The man curled into a ball, tugging the sealskin around him.

“Can you tell me your name?” asked Herc, and got no response.

“OK we’re putting him in the back, he should be fine for the short trip,” said Chuck, ripping the sealskin free and folding it under his arm. The man twisted onto his back, looking for it. “Right, buddy? Say something in 5 seconds if you’re a human or whatever. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Alright, let’s go. We’ve bagged a real cryptid. This is _it_ , man, this is what I’ve been waiting for. I gotta call Pentecost.”

“I’d prefer him to look more like a seal,” said Herc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title stolen from a Switchfoot song that gave me wild nostalgia oh boy it's been a while since my Switchfoot days. "Newt is a marine cryptobiologist" idea stolen from fic "Harbor Me" by Lioneliness, about lighthouse keeper Hermann / I just mentioned what Newt is anyways it's good and now here is a Selkie AU/Shape of Water vibes thing from someone who STILL hasn't watched it but keeps meaning to.  
> I feel like this is not my best work but I can't tell cuz I am mentally fried rn I just moved out of my parent's house lowkey secretly when they were gone so I wouldn't have to tell them my new address and I am feeling every emotion at once about this (mostly euphoria. but also angst) and also I am learning to do cash office at work and its SO MANY NUMBERS. SO MUCH RESPONSIBILITY. also it is EARLY IN THE MORNINGS and I am so tired on so many levels all at once and I am writing to escape but I feel like if I overthink my writing too much it is not going to get done at all so yeah all that to say, you're getting this the way it is or not at all merry 2021 to ye


	2. Cold plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is where the 'adrenaline junkie newt' tag comes in

Newton balanced in the wind, sliding a foot down the side of the rock towards the water. A wave splashed up and soaked him halfway up the shin and he gasped happily at the shock. It was almost summer, but the water was cold all year round. When he turned on the radio this morning they’d been reporting the death of a vacationer who thought it looked like nice weather for a casual swim, suffered cold shock and sank to the icy depths.

He hopped to the next rock, lower in the water, gritting his teeth and chatter-laughing at the shiver that ran through him as the water rushed over his ankles, rising and falling around his legs with every motion of the waves. Even as it threatened to make his skin numb, he could feel the movement of the water, and it was like he was becoming part of the ocean in all its undiscovered depths. It was immense, impersonal, and unconsciously beautiful with the raw beauty of the universe, inexplicable order and blind power carrying the smaller specks of life along in its currents. What was a human to a blue whale? What was a whale to the wide open space of the ocean?

He stepped farther, down a series of staggered rocks almost like slippery stairs, following his usual path with unerring balance. It was hard to see the rocks under the water but he barely needed to look anymore.

He worked his way up onto the last rock, a little higher than the others, putting him up above the water and giving him time to warm up a little in the air. From here there was a sharp drop-off into deeper water, which he could look down on and shiver in anticipation. He could still head back to shore from here, but he knew he wouldn’t. The green-blue depths were calling to him, where he could see the light fading away. He took a deep breath and stepped over the edge. The water closed softly over his head, taking him in with barely a ripple, the waves continuing to rise and fall unaffected by the weight of his small body.

As he dropped, he felt the cold water stripping away his thoughts. There was nothing left to think about here but survival. The noise in his mind was silenced, and he kicked back to the surface in perfect clarity. His head felt like it was burning when he lifted it above the waves and he thought he could feel the texture of his blood as it pumped through his veins. He swam forward with slow, controlled strokes, feeling each thud of his heart, aware of the surging of his blood, the little motions of life in his body that kept him afloat in the similar motion of the rocking waves.

He should head back to shore. But first he took a deep breath and dipped under the waves, letting himself fall, kicking forwards with his whole body in a dolphin-like up-and-down motion. It wasn’t particularly effective without flippers, but he liked the way it felt.

He found the climbing rock and scrambled back to shore, panting and dripping, then took off running down the beach. He didn’t stop until his skin was dry and he could feel his hands again.

Newt’s house was at the top of a steep, rocky slope; thus the comparatively affordable price. It wasn’t enough of a cliff to be picturesque, just enough to make it difficult to get to the shore. Not difficult enough, however, to stop Newt from making the climb at least once daily, often more; so he got along quite nicely.

By the time he was at the top he felt warm, a deep radiating warmth that the wind couldn’t touch. Inside there was the comforting crackle of the radio, tuned to a classic rock station, and the timed coffeepot had just finished brewing, giving off a wonderful smell. He struggled into the living room, banging first a knee and then a shoulder on the sliding patio door and nearly falling on the floor, somehow tangling himself in the door’s momentum as he slid it closed and nearly falling again, then wriggling out of his damp clothes and discarding them en route to the kitchen. He downed his first cup of coffee straight out of the pot, paused to throw some bacon into a pan, put cream in his second cup, cracked eggs into the pan and finally slowed down enough to stir sugar and cream into his third cup. His heart was still racing and he hadn’t stopped grinning.

_I looked out this morning and the sun was gone_

“Turned on some music to start my day,” he sang along with the radio, clattering a plate out of the cupboard and tossing the bacon and eggs onto it.

“I lost myself in a familiar song, I closed my eyes and I slipped away…”

His voice broke on the high note and he laughed, putting the plate down on the table and scooting out the chair. When he sat down he experienced the disgusting feeling of damp skin on cold polished wood and jumped back up.

“Fffaaaack!”

He trotted off across the house to find some pants, picking up his wet clothes on the way so he wouldn’t forget them there for a month (which had happened before). Good thing he didn’t have any close neighbors. …One of these days someone was going to pick the worst time to come bang on his door, weren’t they? Murphy’s law. Or something like that. He was probably misusing that, but he didn’t really care. Bacon time. He nearly killed himself on the way back, trying to put on sweatpants while walking and lurching into the doorframe, bouncing off it and down the wall and back to the kitchen.

“Mmmmmmm bacon bacon bacon bacon bacon bacon,” he noticed his phone was ringing and very confidently, remembering to switch off the radio first, picked it up and answered “Bacon?”

A moment of silence.

“HELLO,” said Newton.

“Good morning, Mr. Gieszler. Did I interrupt breakfast?”

Oh geez it was Pentecost. He sounded kind of amused. But it was hard to tell with him. Oh well. Not like he had any more dignity to save. He sat down and crammed half an egg into his mouth.

“Yeah but don’t worry about it, what’s up?”

“You’re back in town?”

“Uh-huh. Just had my first swim. God I missed this.”

“You know, a man died yesterday—”

“Yeah sank and died from cold shock cuz the water is cold yeah I know.”

“This isn’t going to stop you, is it.”

“Hasn’t yet! Hey have you heard of ice swimming?”

“I would prefer not to. But if you think you can avoid freezing yourself for a while longer, I may have something of interest for you.”

Newton, who had been in the act of feeding an entire strip of bacon into his mouth, put it down on the plate and stood up, pumping his fist in the air in delight. He sat back down and picked his fork back up before saying “Oh sweet dude what is it?” in what he thought was close enough to a normal tone of voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan. 6 2021 in america. I come home from work going 'well I feel so much better today than yesterday thank goodness for a Normal Day!' my roommate is listening to the news. I try to make instant mac n cheese and overhear BREAKING NEWS ABOUT PEOPLE STORMING THE CAPITOL.  
> what  
> anyways heres a chapter 2 for you in case u need some escapism, working on getting 3 coherent-ish expect that soon


	3. That's A Human Person.

“A selkie,” said Newt, later that day, standing in the halls of the Pan-Pacific Research Center. “You’re shitting me.”

“It’s a complicated subject,” said Pentecost, “but we have two witnesses and some… interesting data.”

“What witnesses, though? I mean, you can easily find two people to play along with a hoax.”

“I doubt it. I might have expected it from one of them, but the other is a trusted friend, and I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Well dang,” said Newt.

“Quite.” Said Pentecost, turning to walk, gesturing for Newt to follow him with a pause and a bend of his head. Newt liked his gestures; they were subtle, but easy to read once you learned them.

The research center was built like a military base. Newt had never liked the heavy-handed government involvement or the air of secrecy (science was about the discovery and sharing of knowledge, not hoarding it in a box), but it was a good place to be if you wanted access to the latest _reputable_ information on marine cryptobiology, so he suppressed his anarchist tendencies enough to accept a paycheck in return for doing what he loved—freaking out about monsters and the possibilities of monsters. Mostly there wasn’t much to report and he did independent research, sometimes going months without hearing from the center. Something big enough to get Pentecost personally involved should be interesting.

“The witnesses I mentioned will meet us at the selkie’s quarters,” Pentecost said, voice dropping just slightly on the last words. Newt squinted at him.

Tone was always what got him. Sometimes it was off. And Pentecost didn’t project his emotions, like, at all. But suddenly he had a hunch that Pentecost wasn’t quite happy about this selkie business. That was curious.

He had a crack theory that Pentecost was a selkie himself. He loved them, and the way he talked about them was different from the standard clinical way he talked of other disputed species—kraken, for example. Newt had done his darndest to get him interested, but he felt like Pentecost was only ever politely invested in what he was saying. On the subject of selkies, however, he seemed to have a personal interest.

Jeez, if he was somehow right about Pentecost being a selkie, it’d be weird for him to study one of his own kind in captivity, wouldn’t it? Newton tried to brush the thought off. They didn’t even have confirmation that selkies existed, much less had human intelligence. He was trying not to let himself get too excited or he might just explode. Calm rational normal human thoughts. Selkies probably did not exist (well then what was Pentecost going to show him??) and he would go home after this and have a normal afternoon where he did not think too hard about cryptids. Not like he’d ever accomplished that ever before in his life. But!

He was trying not to believe too hard yet, but he wanted to. He wanted to believe.

There were two men lounging outside a locked door deep in the center.

“Gentlemen, this is Newton Gieszler,” said Pentecost.

Herc, the older guy, introduced himself with a nod. The younger guy made offensively direct eye contact with Newt and screwed up his face like that meme cat that no like banana.

“Hey bud,” said Newt in a friendly way, hoping to calm him down. The grimace intensified. Whoopsies. Don’t call him bud. Okayyyy. Touchy lil dude. (Don’t say that out loud don’t! Fuck you already did. Okay. Fuck you.) What was it about him that was instantly antagonizing? Maybe the guy didn’t like his work? Or did he look a bit too disheveled and windblown? Come on this guy was in a T-shirt and rubber boots Newt was upstaging him by miles, that couldn’t be it. He was even wearing a tie. It was kind of loose because he was bad at tying ties (mostly, honestly, because he hated having something tight around his throat so he never tried to get them too tight because _yeesh_ ) but it was there and it looked good. He had his sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos of mythical sea monsters and his hair was _great_. Newt thought his hair looked best stiff with sea salt and blow-dried in the wind, and it was in prime condition today.

“This is my son Chuck,” said Herc in a tired tone.

“You can call me _Dr_. Hansen,” said Chuck, offering his hand without enthusiasm.

“Dr. Gieszler,” clarified Newt, and couldn’t resist throwing in “6 PhDs.” They had a brief battle of Who Hast Thee Firmer Handshake. Newt let go first, but not before inflicting what he considered a pretty solid grip.

“If you’re ready?” said Pentecost, stepping towards the door, and Newt forgot that Chuck existed.

It was a bare windowless room with a cot against the far wall. An adult human man was sitting on the cot, slumped forwards, hands clasped over his knees, head hanging to look at the floor. He was wearing plain light blue sweats.

“Um,” said Newt. “That’s a dude.”

“It’s a selkie,” said Chuck.

“That’s some human dude. Hey why are you showing me some human dude?” said Newton.

“You said he wasn’t one of those _skeptics_ ,” grumbled Chuck.

“No, it’s an important question,” said Pentecost. “We don’t have indisputable proof yet that we’re dealing with a selkie rather than a mentally ill human being. Hercules—”

“Oh fuck right off,” said Chuck, quietly enough to allow his father to talk over him.

“I think I know what I saw, but it was from a distance, in the waves, and I might have misunderstood what I was seeing. I thought I saw a seal turn into this man,” said Herc.

“Who has a sealskin he’s very attached to,” said Chuck. “I’m sure that’s just simple coincidence, right?”

“Maybe he _thinks_ he’s a selkie,” said Herc. “There are… people like that.”

“Okay,” said Newton, “Lots of theories here, uh, I’m very confused, mostly I just want to know?? Why??? We’ve got like a whole ass human man in here? Like is this legal?”

“Not if he’s human,” said Pentecost.

“It’s a SELKIE,” Chuck interjected.

“—So as you can see this puts us in a delicate position,” Pentecost finished.

The supposed selkie hadn’t moved since they came in. Whoever he was he was not having a good day. Which made sense.

“Human or not there’s no need to dress him like a prisoner, is there? And why’d you have to give him that godawful haircut?” asked Newt, referring to the grown-out bowl cut.

“He came with the haircut,” said Pentecost.

“Oh,” said Newt. “Sorry. Didn’t, uh…”

The man moved suddenly: lifted his head and stared straight at Newt, then went still again, holding that position motionless save for the sudden heaving of his chest. What…?

“What?” he said out loud, in an _I didn’t quite get that_ tone.

Pentecost leaned in and sniffed Newt’s hair. Newt quietly had a heart attack. The guy had the strongest personal space bubble he’d ever seen, it was like a personal space force field. He didn’t just _touch_ people. Which. This wasn’t a touch but boy it was unusual and he was completely thrown off.

“You smell like your morning swim,” said Pentecost.

“Oh, right?” said Newt faintly. The selkie(?) was still staring at him. He had dark, intense eyes and a striking ability to remain completely motionless. The myth that snakes could charm birds with their gaze had no apparent scientific backing but it was a charming (heh) idea and one that Newt felt like he was experiencing, because he couldn’t look away and he didn’t feel like he could move. The possible selkie sniffed at the air again, then lowered his head, returning to his original position. His hair fell forwards to hide his face.

That was. _Incredibly_ depressing.

“Hey your dude is like. Super not okay.” Said Newton.

“I’m concerned about him as well,” said Pentecost softly. “But there isn’t much I can do. My orders are to keep him here for observation.”

“You might not be keeping him here too long if he stays like this,” said Newt. “Is this normal for him? Does he move around at all? Does he eat?”

“He moves when he has to. And he eats now. He wouldn’t when they first brought him in. He only started after we tried to force feed him—he fought back quite briskly for someone who’d been starving himself. He injured two people before we retreated to consider other options. Chuck suggested restraining him, but I didn’t think that was wise. I offered him food one more time and that’s when he started eating.”

“Ah.”

Pentecost looked at the slumped form. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion outside.”

They followed him out, though Chuck seemed reluctant to leave.

“Thoughts?” said Pentecost, looking at Newt.

“Okay, here’s the thing, I don’t know if he’s human or selkie or both or whatever, but he’s obviously super depressed and this is a problem for literally everyone. You’re not going to get much out of him like he is. He needs some like. Enrichment. Which, uh. Is he allowed to leave the room?”

“No,” said Pentecost.

“Okay,” said Newt. “Then I imagine it’ll be uh. Really hard to get him to cooperate.”

“Mr. Gieszler is an animal behavior specialist,” said Pentecost to the Hansens.

Newton thought of himself as more of a behavior specialist in general. Nonverbal communication, in all its weird little intricacies and forms, was fascinating. Not that this made him reliably _good at communicating with people_ , oh hell no. He was pretty sure half of his obsession with understanding communication was overcompensation for being bad at it.

“Good luck with that,” said Chuck. “He doesn’t have behavior, he just sits there being stubborn. He refuses to engage with us.”

“That’s behavior, or, you know, a notable lack of it,” said Newt.

“Dunno,” said Chuck, “that’s just how he is. I think he’s spiteful.”

“Oh, okay, you think that’s normal behavior? Just, like, a normal, average amount of pettiness? You ever just sit in your room and stare at the wall without moving and not even respond when people come into your room and start talking about you right in front of your face?” said Newt.

“He responded to _you_ ,” said Chuck sourly. “Because, what was your theory? He smells nice?”

“He swam in the ocean this morning,” said Pentecost.

“Sure. Well keep doing whatever you’re doing,” said Chuck, “and see if you can get him to talk to you. I doubt he will. He wouldn’t talk to me.”

“And you’re ever so charming,” said Newt.

“Yes,” said Chuck.

“I think I’ll be okay,” said Newt.

“You've already done better than any of the rest of us,” said Pentecost. “Let’s hope that trend holds. I’ll get you clearance to come talk to him. See what you can do.”


	4. Enrichment

Newton realized he didn’t want to believe anymore.

On the one hand, the idea that the PPRC had just a regular human being held in their big spooky lab was straight up terrifying. But there really wasn’t any version of this where it was less creepy. So what if the dude was also a selkie? He looked human. You didn’t just. Grab a random living humanoid and stick them in a box for no real reason other than that you wanted to study them. This was some fucked up first-mental-asylums-before-there-were-regulations shit.

It reminded him of a shark he’d seen in a too-small tank at an aquarium when he was younger, swimming in endless unchanging loops in its empty prison, eyes vacant. It made him sick to think of it.

Okay, so enrichment. It could be hard to get someone already so deeply depressed to take interest in anything. It might help to find something they were already interested in, but the selkie wasn’t really communicating. Also, he didn’t feel like it would be appropriate to try to interest a real-ass grown human in a food puzzle or a ball or something he’d offer to a fish. (Stupid, by the way. Why didn’t adult humans play more? Physics is fascinating and that reminded him he really needed to sweep under the cabinets because he probably had like at least 5 quarter machine bouncy balls up under there and he wanted them BACK THEY WERE SO FUN.)

Right, well. He’d just focus on trying to communicate first. What was the most nonthreatening, least “hehehey I’m a mad scientist I’m going to stab you with a syringe” outfit he had? Unfortunately he loved invoking the mad scientist vibes, blending in some punk and alt elements in his own sense of fashion which he was very proud of. But it was… not good. For attempting casual conversation with a prisoner in the creepy lab where you work. Who keeps getting pestered by your colleagues. And probably is not inclined to trust you.

He started digging towards the back of his closet, a dangerous game because he’d get distracted by everything he—oh sweet so this was where he put his nice leather jacket with the shoulder spikes and the big ACAB reflective paint on the back. Hm. Not relevant to the current situation keep going. Oh shit there was that dramatic gold-edged black cloak he wore to a ren faire one time. _No_. He could not get distracted by HELLO KITTY CHECKERED BUTTON SHIRT. Hello kitty was friendly right? Hello kitty was soft and nice and nonthreatening? OK but the general vibe of the shirt was kind of A Lot and also he felt like Chuck might hate crime him to death on sight if he wore it to work. 

Hm. A polo shirt. Theoretically on brand. But here’s the thing. He hated polo shirts. He did not know why he owned a polo shirt. He carried it to the pile of Stuff To Donate To Goodwill and dropped it on top, glaring at it.

Oh dear word he still had the holographic pink pants he got in college and wore like twice. Huh. They should probably go in the Get Rid Of pile, but they looked cool and he liked shaking them and looking at the shiny texture and also he had memories connected to them (questionable, some of them, but still important).

Shredded Kiss shirt with slashed open sides. Nope. Not the vibe we’re going for. Opposite vibe of what we’re going for.

Oh sweet that old tie-dyed t-shirt with dolphins on it. That was nice. That was chill. Was it weird to wear a shirt with sea creatures on it to talk to a selkie? Were the dolphins anatomically correct? Would the selkie notice and be offended on behalf of dolphins? He was definitely overthinking so he just moved on before he could think of any more stupid questions.

In the end he settled on the most comfortable clothes he owned: a dull pink t-shirt and a grey flannel shirt with some joggers. It felt cozy and it _looked_ cozy. It projected cozy vibes. Here was an outfit that said “bookstore date and coffee, let’s talk about our life stories” rather than “* _Unending maniacal laughter as I fill a syringe with A Glowing Subtance_ *”.

He might have spared himself the trouble. He was pretty sure the selkie didn’t even look at him the first time.

He sat on the floor around the middle of the room, not wanting to get too close, introduced himself and talked a bit, trying to engage the selkie. He didn’t succeed in getting any response. But he promised to be back the next day.

In the meantime, Chuck, after a lot of complaining, had agreed to show him the sealskin they’d found with the man. Newt wasn’t sure why Pentecost hadn’t done it before—he was acting kind of cagey about the whole thing. Newt had had to ask for clarification on why they seriously thought this man was a selkie and he’d given an unsatisfying answer and then told him to get the story from Chuck. That wasn’t like him.

The sealskin was a beautiful silvery color with dark spots, perfectly preserved in one piece—right down to the lashes on the placidly closed eyes—with a single cut running down the belly from chin to tail. Newt was an expert on living (though often theoretical) creatures, not dead ones or their products, but he could tell that the preservation of it was amazing. He ran his hands over it, marveling at the softness.

“What do you think of those?” Chuck asked him, pointing out the faint, healed-over scars above the left flipper.

“Rope? Net, maybe? Probably got tangled in some trash at some point, but also got un-tangled, looks like it healed up pretty well while the animal was still alive.”

“Yep, that’s what it is. See it all the time. Now, here’s the interesting part. That “dude” in there has similar scars across his shoulder.”

“ _What_.”

“Check it out.”

He took out a folder of photos and handing it to Newt, who cringed a little at the first one. The selkie-man was looking away from the camera, obviously uncomfortable. But there were the same scars arcing across his skin—they looked different on him; curving over his shoulder onto his back, but roughly the same as the marks on the sealskin; or how they would look on a human body rather than a seal’s.

“Duuuuuude that’s weird as hell. Why didn’t Pentecost mention this?”

“I dunno, I think he believes my dad’s weird story about both of us somehow imagining the same thing. Those two are real chummy.” Chuck took the folder back and tossed it down with a sharp gesture.

Newt suddenly remembered his Actual Selkie Pentecost theory and, with a great effort, barely restrained himself from talking about it. He wasn’t great at keeping his mouth shut. Although, considering the selkie’s continued silence, this could be a good thing—he had to make all the conversation himself.

He kept up the routine of his morning cold plunge, or at least getting outside in the sea breeze when he didn’t want to commit to the icy plunge. He couldn’t tell if the selkie noticed or not, but he hoped it would make him seem appealing. He talked to him—rambled, mostly, watching for any sign of engagement, occasionally asking questions in a casual way that allowed him to keep talking when they weren’t answered. After a couple days he thought he was making some progress, at least—the selkie seemed less tense while he was in the room. That was something. He was gradually changing how far away he sat, sitting down just a bit closer every few days, taking it slowly, not wanting to scare him. At some point he started bringing his radio to fill the awkward silences when he wasn’t sure what to say—Newt considered himself a real pro at just rambling about stuff, but even he sometimes ran out of steam. He kept the volume low. He couldn’t tell if the selkie liked it or hated it. Well, maybe he found the news broadcasts interesting. He thought the selkie looked up a bit for those, as if he was trying to hear.

It was generally slow going, and Chuck at least seemed to think it was useless, but he committed himself to it. He was starting to pick up subtle cues he’d missed before—the looseness in the selkie’s posture and the small movements he made when he was comfortable, the way he’d delicately rub his fingers over the texture of the fabric he was wearing. When he was tense he’d stare at an invisible point somewhere between floor and wall, or rarely, wring his fingers together until his knuckles cracked. When relaxed he’d generally look at the floor, but sometimes he’d look at Newt, though not directly, and generally only when he thought Newt wouldn’t notice. This was enough to let Newt start at least theorizing about his preferences.

He didn’t like Van Halen. He didn’t seem to mind Pink Floyd. He was pretty sure he was actually invested in the local news stories? And he didn’t like Chuck, just hearing his voice in the hall outside was enough to change his attitude. Which made sense, considering Chuck was the one who took his sealskin.

His main concern was that the selkie didn’t _move_. He’d tried asking about it. Pentecost was evasive. Chuck said he “made him get up and walk around a bit sometimes” and didn’t offer much clarification. Newt witnessed his method one day, which was basically chasing the selkie very very slowly around the room. The selkie didn’t like Chuck standing too close to him, so he’d shuffle away. Chuck followed. They made a couple laps of the room like this.

“It’s like pulling teeth,” said Chuck.

“Yeah,” said Newt, frowning. “Does he have trouble moving? He’s got kind of a limp, doesn’t he?”

“I mean, maybe. I think he’s just contrary.”

“You like saying that.” Right in front of him, no less. Chuck seemed to assume the selkie either couldn’t understand them or didn’t care. Or maybe he hoped he could goad him into talking to him. Seemed like a pretty bad method for attempting that, though.

That night Newton bought a cane.

“So I noticed you don’t like walking,” said Newt the next day. “I dunno, I thought this might help?” he demonstrated shifting his weight from his legs to the cane and back again. The selkie didn’t offer any sign of comprehension, but that was normal. “I’ll just leave it here, in case you want it later.”

Chuck was probably gonna have a stroke about him Giving The Selkie a Possible Weapon or whatever, but he could just cry about it. Anyway, Newt was the one spending the most time in the room, if anyone got smacked it’d likely be him.

Nothing unusual happened that day until Newt had left the selkie’s room and was getting ready to leave. As he passed by the door again he heard the quiet tap of a cane on the floor. He stopped to listen, and heard it again. He smiled.

He wasn’t expecting the selkie to allow him to actually see him using it, but when he came in the next day the selkie was standing, cane in one hand, near the back of the room, apparently waiting for him. When Newt appeared he made eye contact and held it for a moment before turning and sitting down on the bed in his usual spot. Even that brief interaction stunned Newt a bit. The selkie had made a concession to his usual behavior to… what? Let him know he was using the cane so he didn’t try to take it away? Thank him? Well, that last one might be a bit of a stretch. Still, that was more communication than they’d managed so far.

“It just shows I’m right,” he told Pentecost later. “This is a bad environment for him and he’s scared and depressed and we haven’t been doing anything to change that.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“Well?”

Pentecost shrugged. “Unfortunately, the battles of bureaucracy take ten times longer than they need to. I’m doing my best on my end, but I can’t help but feel we’re causing more damage by our inaction in the meantime. I want you to do what you can.” He gave him an oddly direct look.

“Yes sir,” said Newt, wondering if he’d missed something. He didn’t think so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rushing this because I want to complete it and I am scared if I don't rush it'll just be another uncompleted fic on my conscience but also I feel bad about it because I'm rushing it and I had to stop working on it a couple days because I had a spell of Violently Hating It. whatever, we're back, here's another chapter.  
> I remembered reading the ‘distressed circling aquarium fish’ story somewhere but I don’t remember where it was from….


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